Too fat. Too old. Too dumb. Too afraid. Too girly. Too sexual. Too hyper. Too Type A. Too. Too. Too.

The Too-Too is an outfit I’ve worn my whole life. I still wear it, every day. Even when it’s dirty and out-of-style. Maybe most often then. Definitely most often when I’m embarking on something new and scary. Not at first — the beginning of any new thing for me is filled with the excitement and joy of new ideas, the adrenaline of yes, the woo-hoo of “I can do this” that fits me like bells and covers all sounds of panic and distress.

The beginning of the year of yes was like that. All music, no too-toos. It’s almost halfway through now and this is where the panic sets in. I’ve said yes to good things, amazing things, joyous and heart-filling people, experiences, plans, places and goals. And now the work comes. And with it, the moment where I begin to doubt.

I keep wanting to talk about my writing plan for this coming year. The exciting — and incredibly scary — things I have planned. But I can’t bring myself to do it. That’s because I know this is big. That’s because I’m afraid this might fail. That’s because I’m wearing my too-too every day like a stop sign. It’s heavy and dirty and it’s starting to smell bad.

This isn’t a call for support. Not for kind words or there-theres. This is just a reminder for me, and maybe for you too, that our too-toos, like everything else that holds us back, are not all we are. In fact, they’re not even us at all. They’re just part of our wardrobe. Removable. Darnable. Washable.

It’s laundry day. And I’ve got a perfect-fitting pair of FuckYesses to put on.

Kiss kiss bang bang, s.